The Warrior's Heart
by Rundas Prime1
Summary: When Reinhardt Wilhelm goes to the ruins of Eichenwalde in search of Sir Balderich's remains, he winds up stranded alone in the Black Forest without his armor, pursued by a dangerous unknown threat. His only hope for survival resides with perhaps the unlikeliest ally of all. (Overwatch: Ultimate - Part Three)
1. Part 1

The Warrior's Heart

Watchpoint Gibraltar was home, but it was far from looking like it. The former common room was in a state of utter disrepair. Winston had only been repairing vital systems and cozying up his own laboratory, and hadn't spent a lot of time on anything else. He hadn't expected the Watchpoint to become the central hub that it had. Many of them, McCree, the Shimada brothers, Jack, and Ana, had no other home, so they ended up staying there. Things being as they were, Lena had made use of her newly healed arms and taken it upon herself to start interior decorating. Anyone who had ever seen what Lena had done to a space would understand why Emmie did all the decorating at home.

So the stage was set for Reinhardt Wilhelm's arrival. He was a colossal man with a mane of white hair and a scar on his left eye. Despite his gruff appearance, he radiated nothing but paternal warmth. He came with two others in tow. One was a woman, recognized perfunctorily as an old friend of Reinhardt. The other, the more unusual and disturbing of the two, was an omnic. An omnic designed specifically for war. An omnic build deemed so dangerous they were hunted down and killed on sight. This one seemed off. Distracted. Sometimes by the bird on its shoulder chirping excitedly, sometimes just by the very world around it.

Torbjörn Lindholm, Overwatch's ex-Chief Engineer, had arrived about a week ago, saying to expect Reinhardt in a few days. When asked what former Lieutenant Wilhelm was doing, Torby merely gave a frustrated sigh and said that it was best Reinhardt explain everything himself when he got there. Now Torby, lips scrunched into a scowl hidden not at all by his big blonde beard, arms crossed, was just as hungry for information. He stared at the omnic with such pointed hardness that the machine shrunk away.

This was better than Torby's first reaction to the thing, which was to start ranting violently about how that thing shouldn't be allowed anywhere near them. Omnics were incapable of empathy, after all. The robot had only watched him, head lolling up and down, following his movements with its one innocent eye. If it understood, it only half-understood, and it said nothing.

Winston and Jack brought Reinhardt and Torby down to the common room. They left the omnic, who Reinhardt had called 'Bassy,' and the woman, Brigitte, in the charge of Genji. Winston figured that for the time being, Torby should be as far away from Bassy as possible. Lena was down in the common room, trying to make sense of the new cappuccino maker on the wall. Bless her heart, she was trying her best.

Reinhardt looked around at the garish yellow and pink walls.

"Yeah," Jack said. "That's Lena's work."

Reinhardt's bushy white brows rose, "Really? Lena," he said. "I love what you've done with the place."

"Want something to drink?" Lena asked eagerly. "We have water or peanut butter."

Reinhardt blinked. "Water… will do fine."

"That's what I get for letting Winston stock the pantry," Lena said, blinking to the mini-fridge.

Reinhardt sat down, sinking into the couch. Jack and Torby took the two chairs across from him.

"You owe us all an explanation, Vilhelm," said Torby in his thick Swedish accent. "Spare no detail."

Lena handed Reinhardt his bottle of water, then sat down on the floor eagerly, legs crossed.

Jack glanced at her quizzically.

"Reinhardt's going to tell a story," she said. "Right?"

Reinhardt smiled, eyes gleaming. His rough face grew friendly. "Indeed," he said. He looked to Torbjorn. "And I will spare _no_ detail," he grinned wider.

Torby's scowl grew deeper still. "Vell? Let's get this over vith."

And Reinhardt began.

…

My story begins at your home, Torbjörn. Bear with me as I describe this piece for the benefit of our uninformed listeners. Fate and the road that is not so open as many suppose brought us to you just in time for Christmas. I regaled your children with a tale of heroism from the Omnic Crisis. A children's version, of course. The villains' flaws deeper, the heroes just a bit grander. The Omnic oppressors were shambling, soulless Dark Knights ruled by a demonic king. And we, the mighty, honorable Crusaders. I finished with the heroic sacrifice of Sir Balderich, and how his death inspired the flames of the Warrior's Heart to be roused to victory.

You may ask, why trivialize such a story of a great man? You ask amiss. Tales do not trivialize, friends. They _immortalize._ In death, Sir Balderich became a mythic symbol. A symbol that the world would remember. I thought that Sir Balderich would want to be remembered.

I told my friend Torbjörn of the rumors I had heard. That Overwatch had been operating in the Middle East. I convinced him that the recall signal was no mere accident. We were to come to Gibraltar. Overwatch was returned, and we should answer that call. At least investigate. But my friend Torbjörn was, as always, an astute man.

We were seated by the roaring fire. The tongues of flame lapped at the air hungrily, but were contained to the red-brown brick furnace. It was a rarity to see such ancient technology used today. Torbjörn is also a very analog based man. There we were, drinking tall mugs of Mrs. Lindholm's superbly sweet apple cider.

"This isn't on the vay to Gibraltar," said Torbjörn. "Not unless you plan to svim through the Arctic."

I admitted to Torbjörn that I had other plans. At least for the time being.

I spoke gravely, "I would ask that you go to Gibraltar. Tell them that I live, and that I am coming. But I have a duty to fulfill before I do. After that, I may fight and die if need be with no regrets. The reason I told the story of Balderich tonight," I said, staring deep into the bottom of the cider, "Is because that is a story that has weighed on my mind as of late. It is as I said. Sir Balderich should be remembered. Not as a myth, but as one who existed. Men are fickle, myself included. They believe what they see and feel."

Torbjörn leaned in closer.

"His armor is still in the ruins of Eichenwalde. And that is where I go."

…

If it seems unusual that the armor of Sir Balderich would still be in the same place after six and a score years, I feel I should explain. Eichenwalde is a battleground that no man has set foot on since the Crisis. Not one has attempted to clean it up or repair it. It is cursed land. Some say the ghosts of the dead haunt it. The more practical ones were more concerned with the remaining omnics. They may be in a state of disrepair, but even a damaged unit can kill someone if they are not careful.

Brigitte and I stopped in the nearest town to Eichenwalde. We did not mention our mission. The suspicion surrounding Eichenwalde and the forest around it had grown to superstition and paranoia. Ghosts, they said. Omnics, they said. _Ghost omnics,_ they said. I was unafraid. Healthily cautious, but unafraid.

We drove through the Eichenwalde forest, and my friends, it was a sight to behold. Trees of green sparkling with dew in the sunlight. The sky bluer than a robin's eggs. We drove along a cliff, and below us, a canyon stretched. A huge river flowed beneath us. With the golden sun shining on its surface, it was practically blinding.

Brigitte suddenly brought the van to a stop and I hit my head on the ceiling. There were police, or at least, men who looked like police, guarding the main bridge. I did not know what they were doing or why. I knew that they must have arrived recently, as the townspeople had not mentioned them. It could be that access was not _restricted_ per se, but they had the look of folks who would search our vehicle before letting us pass. If they found my armor in the back, it might have taken more explanation than I and Brigitte could give to convince them that I was not the power-armor clad vigilante patrolling Europe.

We turned around. Confident that they had not seen us, and we were not being followed, we drove back along our way. I had an idea.

"You are out of your mind," said Brigitte, staring at the bridge. It was a train bridge, but in remarkable disrepair. As I said, this place had not been set foot in for nearly three decades.

"This is our way across," I said. "Unless you want to explain to those fine men over there that they should let us in."

Brigitte sighed. "Even if I was comfortable stepping on that with nothing but my foot, let alone a van weighed down with you and your armor," she said. "Do you not see the big gap in the middle? You can't drive over that."

Reinhardt looked again. The gap was too wide to jump on foot, either.

I raised a finger, shaking my head, "Brigitte," said I, "when have I ever proposed charging forward without a plan?"

Brigitte pursed her lips and looked upward ponderously, "Just this week, or…?"

"You are very funny," I said. "But I do have a plan."

I explained it to her. And before she knew it, we were trying it. She lowered the crouching suit of armor out of the van. In it, I would be a foot taller than I was without. The grey finish had grown shabby and scratched over the years, but the armor of a Crusader was built to last. Its performance had not faltered a whit.

"Actually," Brigitte corrected, "it's barely a pile of shit at the moment. This thing is not combat ready. Not even a little bit. You do this thing, you get out. Don't even think about fighting."

I agreed. Though I was not illiterate in these things, I trusted her opinion more than I trusted mine. I stepped into the chassis, and it closed around me. Not many would consider the interior of powered armor comfortable, but I was a Crusader to the bone. The armor was a second skin. I booted the armor up and placed the helmet over my head. I left the rocket hammer in the trunk. I would not need it for my plan.

I wrapped the massive metallic hands of the Crusader armor around the van, Brigitte safely inside. I pushed the van forward onto the bridge, steadily increasing speed. Just as we reached the gap in the bridge, Brigitte turned the repulsor-lifts on the van to maximum upward thrust at the same time I activated my back thruster. The result: we hopped slightly, just over the gap. Unfortunately, I misjudged the distance, and my feet landed on the edge of the bridge. It was not the van's weight that caused the structure to collapse, but mine.

I shoved the van out of my grasp, and Brigitte made it safely across. However, the force knocked me backwards. I could not regain my balance. My fingers brushed the edge of the bridge, but it crumbled in my fist. I saw Brigitte swing the door open, but then I fell.

Thinking fast, I activated my back thruster again, propelling myself towards the cliff. I crashed into it, and I lodged all my fingers into the dirt and stone. For a while, I thought I would slide right down into the water, but soon, I came to a stop. Carefully, I took my one hand out of the dirt and slammed it back in, slightly higher than the other. It held. I did this again and again, rising higher, towards the top. I hoped to make it fast enough to let Brigitte know I was alive.

But just before I reached her, I heard shouting and gunfire. I did not waste any more time. I used the thruster once more, pushing to its limit, speeding to the pinnacle. Just before it sputtered and died, I launched into the air, seeing five men dressed like swat officers. Brigitte was nowhere to be seen. I dropped down onto the first, punching him lightly in his center of gravity. 'Lightly' is a relative term. My armor punched him with the force of a charging bull. The rest opened fire without so much as an order to stand down. These men were not swat, but I knew that as soon as I heard them open fire on Brigitte. These were doppelgangers. Who sent them, I did not know.

I grabbed the second and threw him into the third, shrugging off their bullets like they were insects. I needed not bother even raising my shield. I charged into them. Or tried to. There was a popping and sizzling sound as I felt a slight rush of heat on my back. My thruster had failed.

I took a sprinter's stance and launched myself forward, grabbing the remaining two men, one in each hand. I brought them together, knocking them out, but at the last moment, my arms failed, clapping together, then dropping to my sides limply.

It is one of my embarrassing propensities to scream uselessly at things when they do not work. I picked this up from Brigitte. I did so, cursing my arms to move. The first man stood, uncannily hefting his rifle and opening fire.

The bullets bounced away, but I was consumed with dread. I am loath to admit that my immobility made me as frightened as a scared boy. What made me afraid was the thunderous sound coming from the woods. I heard the cracking of fallen wood as I began to feel the thunder in my feet.

From the forest emerged a massive figure, a foot taller than me, clad in blood-red armor. Its head was a grinning dragon, mouth filled with demonic fire. It held a giant axe with an orange, glowing edge. It cocked its head like a mischievous spirit, then jammed the hilt into the ground. The Dragon grabbed a tree trunk and snapped it off effortlessly. It took it in both hands, then swung.

The force dented my shoulder, and I cried out as hot hydraulic fluid spilled onto my arm, and I rolled on the ground, dirt flying into the air. My arm actuator rebooted, and I used that arm to stabilize myself. I ripped the inoperable arm off and swung it like a flail at the dragon knight, but it caught my swing and retaliated, punching my chest with the strength of ten explosions. My armor shattered, and I flew backward, my armor completely dead.

Blinking my eyes clean of the blood, I saw the clear blue of the river far below. I felt the cool breeze on my face, and I knew that my helmet was off. I saw it, just a foot made of red metal crushed it. That same foot then wound back and kicked me over the edge of the cliff.

And that is how I died.

 _Vhat?! You- You fucking liar._

But I got you, didn't I?


	2. Part 2

Part 2.

I fell down the cliff towards the water, trying to turn my body so that my right shoulder was facing down. I intended to cushion my body from the impact using the ballistic gel in the husk of the armor. I'm sure you are all aware that hitting water from a certain height is as good as hitting ground? I certainly felt like hitting concrete, but only for a moment. I was submerged in the freezing water of the river. On the bright side, the water washed away the blood, sweat, and hydraulic fluid. On the downside, I was drowning.

With my free arm, I ripped away my breastplate and wriggled out of the armor. Immediately, I was swept downstream. I tried to swim upward, but disoriented as I was, I could not say where that would be. I suddenly felt my body hit something hard and metallic. A hand grabbed the back of my shirt and started pulling me. It was not the jerking pull of someone swimming, nor the steady, quick pull of a rope. It was a steady, heavily footed walk, as if my rescuer were fighting a mighty gale with his steps.

I thought my lungs would burst. My rescuer had no impetus for time, as if he were not at risk of drowning. When we finally broke the surface of the water, it was a cathartic intake of air. I coughed after the ragged breath. My rescuer set me down gently. I was a dripping, shivering mess. I wanted heat. A fire. My arm started to burn.

I cursed again, and I scrabbled away. Above me was a shape like a man, but more square and boxy.

 _It's the omnic! It's the fucking omnic, stop being dramatic about it._

I am telling the story, friend. It was an SST Laboratories E54 Siege unit. A Bastion. If it seems unusual that I can recall the exact model of the machine, you must remember that I had killed many of these in my time, and it, many, many of my comrades. It held in its hand a welding torch. Rather, its hand _was_ a welding torch. It looked to the torch, then back to me. It did this several more times, making strange chirping and whining noises. I merely sat, nursing the wound on my arm, shivering and wondering what it was going to do. For that matter, what was it doing here? Why was it standing in the middle of a riverbed waiting for me to come by?

After a moment, a bird fluttered in front of the Bastion's one glowing eye, and it became part of the rotation. The omnic whined quizzically, looking to the torch, then the bird, then to me.

Its hand shifted shape. It became a gun.

I forced myself to stand on shaking knees. It is with embarrassment that I admit: At the time, my injured head and overactive imagination convinced me that somehow, this bird had communicated to the omnic to kill me. But the Bastion stood still, only looking me over with a curious eye. It was then that I noticed the color of the eye was an innocent sky blue, not the red that I had become accustomed to fighting its kind in the Crisis so many years ago.

Remembering myself, I looked up. I wondered if the Dragon Knight had seen me pulled from the river. I could not see the castle, as far below it as I was. It was possible that the river's current had taken me a mile before I ran into my mechanical rescuer.

 _Rescuer,_ thought I. _But was it truly?_ It had tried to burn me with a torch, and now it was threatening me. You had told me yourself, Torbjörn, and I believed, that omnics were incapable of empathy, and could not be trusted. I had seen firsthand the atrocities they had committed.

This omnic, however, merely continued to stare. The bird on its shoulder eyed me with suspicion, nestling itself snugly in a dent in the Bastion's shoulder. I moved slowly, taking a single slow step first. The Bastion did nothing. One more step, and another, no resistance.

I stepped away, not turning my back. The omnic's stare lost none of its blankness. I debated the wisdom of leaving a possibly insane war machine to its own devices in the woods, but I had more pressing matters on my mind. Brigitte was still out there.

I tried to decide how to find her. I took out my cellphone. It was shattered and wet. Useless. With no way of contacting her, I could only make my way to the castle and hope that she had the same idea.

I scanned the cliff, and found that it was not utterly sheer. There was a winding pathway leading upward. I decided to follow it. I looked upwards, making sure that no one saw me. I was luckily dressed in brown and black, and would be hard to spot, especially after nightfall. Though I hoped I would not be here that long. Remembering my combat training, I moved on the balls of my feet, quietly. Behind me were heavy footsteps and the snapping of what sounded like every twig in the forest.

I looked back and found the Bastion following me. It still did nothing but stare at me.

"Go away," I said.

It jumped in surprise when I spoke, then looked around, flustered.

"Go away," I repeated.

The Bastion cocked its head to the side and looked at the bird on its shoulder, as if looking for an answer. The bird chirped, as if trying to give one, but the Bastion didn't understand that either.

I kept on until I reached the top, followed all the while by the Bastion. I would like to lie and say that it did not wind me, but I was without my armor, wounded, and no longer a young man. The Bastion had a much easier time of it than me. By the time I reached the top, the sun was low in the sky, and turning red. When I sat down, soaked with sweat, against a tree, the Bastion was still standing, still staring.

"What?" I panted.

The Bastion watched me a moment longer, then sat against a tree opposite myself, mimicking me. I could not tell what its intention was. Was it to mock me? Could omnics even process humor? Or was it something else? Perhaps it was trying to _understand_ me.

"At least stop the macho thing," I said, pointing to the omnic's gun.

It looked at its own arm, still with the same innocuous confusion. I tried to make a gesture conveying what it looked like when it had changed from a blow-torch to a gun. I had to use both hands.

After another very long moment of ignorance, the Bastion's eyes flashed with understanding, but then its head sunk again, making a low pitched, unsure whine. Its gun retracted, but only a cluster of sparking wires emerged. It held up its other hand for comparison.

I smiled painfully and clicked my teeth. I pointed at my left eye. "Mine is not as bad as yours, eh?" I said.

It made a series of quick, wheezing chirps that sounded enough like a laugh, but it was probably just mimicking me.

I could see the castle now, standing grandly over the forest. From this distance, in this light, it looked to have all its former splendor restored. As I had little else to do, other than try in vain to make this omnic understand me, I pondered how I could get into the castle. The main doors, I knew, would likely be intact. Even in the fateful battle in which Sir Balderich had fallen, Eichenwalde castle had never been breached. My heart sunk when I remembered the men dressed like police officers, and of the Dragon Knight that had destroyed my armor. Even if the omnics had never breached the doors, surely the invaders would have by now.

As I rested, I watched as the bird began to build a nest from twigs on the Bastion's shoulder. The Bastion occasionally took a blade of grass and clumsily weaved it in. The bird always fixed the work, but never tore the piece away, like a dutiful teacher.

At one point, I heard the distant sound of a woodpecker. I tell you the truth friends, that I have never seen a purer look of fear than the one I saw flash upon that Bastion's face. It looked around confusedly, violently, even. I was fully prepared to run. The bird suddenly pulled a twig out of the nest. It began to nudge the side of the Bastion's head with it. To my awe, the Bastion took the twig, pressed it into the nest, and was calmed.

I rested until the sun had fully set. It would do me no favors to charge in half-prepared, and in the darkness, my brown and black attire would make me hard indeed to detect.

It wasn't until I started to move again, and hear the clunking footsteps of my overly curious traveling companion, that I remembered this would never work. For some reason, I could not bring myself to kill this thing. Maybe it was its behavior, maybe its vacant stare like that of a dumb cow, or perhaps the fact that it refused to harm the bird, or the fact that the bird followed it around.


	3. Part 3

Part 3.

As I approached the ruined town that was built around the tower, I racked my brain for a way to make the omnic understand that it could not come with. I also searched the environs for signs of Brigitte. Nothing came of either endeavor.

I saw lights inside the outer walls of the castle, but it didn't look as if they were patrolling the town ruins. I praised my good fortune and made my way into an abandoned, mostly intact pub. I breathed in the dusty air and relished the sound of old wood beneath my feet. I remembered this place, as did all my fellow Crusaders. The final night I bunked there, my name had been scratched into the bar table. I checked. It was still there. I had been told that the barkeep was going to replace the counter, and as such, I could do whatever I wished with it. Crusaders were a rowdy sort. It made for such storied nights of drinking and mirth that the next town over would tell them. Much of Crusader training was learning to control the warrior's heart, so that it did not became a raging, destructive fire.

But the counter had not been replaced. I had risen through the ranks quickly. Perhaps after the world knew the exploits of Sir Reinhardt Wilhelm, it had been decided that my name should remain carved here. But I digress. I mean to say that I had many fond memories of this place.

Behind the bar, I found a gun, an antique hunting rifle. It was many years old, but Germans built everything to last. I checked the chamber, but there were no bullets. I doubted that after all this time without cleaning, it would fire at all, anyway. Old slug-throwing models were like that. I turned it over, holding the barrel in my hands, and gave it two test swings. Solid. Should hold up against a few skulls, I figured. The weight was top-heavy, almost like a hammer. As you know, I am quite the wizard with a hammer.

In the center of the pub, there was a long table. Suitable for seating many Crusaders in a long night's hard drinking. I leaned over it on my fingertips and visualized a map of Eichenwalde on its dusty surface, trying to think what would be the ideal route to avoid detection. The Bastion again copied me, but after the table began to creak very loudly, it took a step back, startled, and tried pushing it down with just one finger.

I tried to stifle my laugh, but a bit of it spilled out of my full-toothed grin.

The Bastion imitated my laugh briefly, then cocked its head inquiringly.

There was something uncomfortable about this omnic. It had the body of a war machine, but the cognition of a child. Nay, a baby. A walking baby. Made of metal. I digress again. While I found myself amused by its antics, I was set ill at ease by the fact that it didn't seem to know its own strength.

This in mind, I thought back to when it had burned me with its welding torch. I believed it now to be a purely innocent gesture. I think it was trying to _fix_ me, in its way. I doubt it even remembered the battle of Eichenwalde. Maybe it did not understand organics? No. Impossible. It had spent its waking life among them. Surely it must have realized that trying to weld a deer or a bird resulted in pain. Perhaps this thing assumed that because I was more similar in shape to it, my workings bore more resemblance to it than its bird friend.

All that aside, I doubted that I could convey to a chirping box of metal that it should move quietly. On the other hand, it was an instrument of war. If I could manage to convince this Bastion to fight, it would be quite a boon indeed.

Before I even tried, I decided no. I could not convey to it the importance of my task. And… It somehow did not seem right.

"Stay," I said, motioning with my hands.

The Bastion cocked its head.

I sighed heavily. Then, I sat down on the floor. As I anticipated, the Bastion mimicked my action. I made the same motion with my hands. "Stay," I said.

I started to rise to my feet. As the Bastion copied me, I quickly and sternly said, "No. No, no, no," I said, until it froze. I stood to my full height.

"Stay," I said.

The Bastion very slowly started to rise.

"No," I said, sterner than before. _"Stay."_

The Bastion froze once more, and after I was sure that it would not move again, I grabbed my club and slowly backed out of the room.

I ducked through a collapsed sweet shop, moving silently. From there, I could see the main road. Its glory was tarnished, once, the stone bricks were lustrous and ever-new, now they were merely dusty bricks in the ground. I decided that simply walking up the main road would be foolish. I ran across the street, swift but silent. Climbing atop some rubble, I pulled myself inside another ruin.

From there, I could see the three-man guard detail on the bridge. Below that bridge was a river perhaps forty feet beneath. The main door was shattered, but a force field blocked entrance. I thought it odd that if one were defending a place they would destroy a defense just to put another up. Two more guards patrolled up and down the main road. It seems I arrived just as the patrol turned around and headed back away from the castle. I remained hidden until they were out of sight, then I slung the rifle over my shoulder and started to climb the wall sideways, window to window. I am sure it did not look as dramatic as it felt. Even Camouflaged as I was by dirt, if any of the guards had given me so much as a second glance, I surely would have been see and shot. When I reached the other side, I dropped down to a crouch. I was about to try and get into the castle, but I heard the guards talking.

"When is Jackson getting back with those charges? It's been hours already."

This was curious. What did they need charges for? Then I realized that they were not guarding the castle. They were trying to get in.

I was more advantaged than they. I knew the secrets of Eichenwalde. It was my home of many years. I knew there was a hidden passage around the back that only the Crusaders knew of. I made my way to it, but in the moment that I looked back, I stumbled into a guard zipping up his trousers. Without a second thought, I swung my club at his head. His helmet rang, his skull cracked, and he fell to the ground. It was a bit louder than I'd have liked. The other guards heard.

Seeing me, they opened fire, the sound of their guns echoing for miles around. I ducked behind some nearby rubble, praying for my armor and hammer. A few well-placed swings would have made short work of them. Before I could even think of what to do, I heard a high-pitched screech that nearly hurt my ears. Something small, but very loud rolled up the bridge. Before I could make out what, it launched a ball of fire at the guards. The ball detonated, sending the one flying into the gorge, and setting the other aflame.

The thing, which I realized was a tank half the size of a car, turned and fired on the other two guards that came sprinting back from their patrol. It shrieked again and I recognized the sound immediately. It was the Bastion, of course! It must have heard the guns and come to my aid. I must have made quite a friend out of it. I stepped out from behind my hiding place and waved.

I regretted it, as the Bastion launched its next shell at me. I almost didn't make it back behind the wall I time for my surprise. I couldn't believe that the Bastion was merely biding its time, waiting to kill me.

Something tiny and loud was flapping around my head. I resisted the urge to swat it and found that it was the Bastion's bird companion, chirping and fluttering wildly. It was just as surprised as I was.

Another explosion. The bird flitted away to the trees. I could hear the tank getting closer. In but a moment, the bird rushed back, carrying a twig in its mouth. It started knocking the twig against the omnic's metallic skin like a sword. No. More gingerly. Like a reminder. It was the same gesture the bird had made before, but this time it did not work.

"You're making this bird sound awfully smart." Torbjorn interjects.

While the Bastion was distracted, I stepped out of cover. I had been a fool to trust this machine. I sprinted forward, intending jump on top of the tank, where it could not hurt me, and give it a good thrashing with my club.

As soon as it saw me, it froze. Though I was in its sights, it did not fire. Its parts shifted again, becoming humanoid.

I struck the tank once from my vantage, sending the bird into a panic. The Bastion struck me with a hard, metallic hand, and tried to point it's gun in my direction. I jammed one of its joints with my gun, then threw it against the wall. That was the only way I could hope to damage it, after all.

It backed away from me, and I realized that covered in ash as I was, panting and adopting such menacing battle-ready posture, I must have cut a terrible figure indeed. The look of confusion and dread on the Bastion's face as its eye flashed back to its usual innocent blue was more than my heart could take. I had seen such a look before, in the eyes of soldiers. The soldiers that had come home with a piece of them still lying dead on the battlefield.

I realized something. I was human. What if the omnic's IFF wasn't detecting a difference between me and the guards? The symptoms were so close to that of post-traumatic stress. Something about that made the Bastion even more profoundly human.

The bird landed on my gun, still lodged in the Bastion's joint. It jumped up and down, trying to knock it loose, though failing. I slowly stepped forward, and the Bastion's servos began to shiver. I gently took hold of the stock and gently slid it out. As I did this, the bird pecked my hand once, but quickly fluttered away and crept between the Bastion's neck.

The Bastion almost immediately jerked its gun arm into position near my head. I did not flinch. I knew that in this state, it likely would not have the capacity to kill. I hoped, anyway.

"I am sorry," I said. And I truly was. When one of my men was haunted by their doings, I did not think it fit to beat them with a club.

The Bastion whined and fell to a sitting position. The bird pecked at the Bastion with a twig, trying to cheer it up.

I gently placed a hand on the Bastion's shoulder.

"It is not safe here. You must come with me."

The Bastion did nothing. I was forced to press on alone, my heart still sunken. Intellectually, I knew that it was not human, but that did not help.

I stepped into the secret passage, a narrow hallway. On either side of me, there was a depression, and stone pillars as large around as myself. Ahead, the path narrowed into a corner.

I wondered why the invaders had not merely entered through it instead of trying to blow the door. They were desperate and likely combing the entire castle for vulnerabilities. They could have found it. As soon as I stepped in, and had to roll out of the way of a roaring column of flame, I knew for certain. Whoever was holding this castle had known it as well as I, and took measures to make sure that the secret passage was defended.

I waited out of sight for a few moments to try and figure out what kind of trigger these defenses were on. I had not seen nor heard fire, so I doubted that it was merely a timed pulse. Bracing myself, I sprinted across the hall behind another pillar, making sure my feet did not touch the floor in the center. Chancing a look, I saw a grey device on the far wall burst into flames, then slide quickly up and down once. The flame rushed past again. Sweat ran down the small of my back and down my face. I deduced that there was a proximity sensor that triggered the device.

I sprinted across once more, felt the heat, then sprinted back right behind the wall of fire, close enough for the perspiration on my arm to sizzle. There was a brief delay for the second wall. We'll call it two seconds, though I cannot recall for sure. So there was a reload time of two seconds. Two seconds to run down that hall and reach the corner. I frowned. I could make it. I hoped.

" _Obviously, you could."_

Shut up, Torbjorn.

" _You're the one who asked for details, love."_

I sprinted across the hall once again, and the very moment the wall of fire blew past, I sprinted down the hall. I started to silently pray that my count wasn't off. That my legs would carry me fast enough. Time was up. I rolled to the side, into the corner. I felt the fire very close to my boot, but I was unscathed.

I took a moment to catch my breath, but not too long before I made my way deeper into the castle. I was in the pantry, so I made my way up to the main room. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me, but this place too was just as I had left it. I walked up the red carpet to the Crusader's throne. As I passed the gate, I glanced through the force field outside, and saw that the Bastion was no longer there. Good. It had gotten out of danger.

As I looked back towards my goal, the Bastion was there. I screamed. It screamed back. Brigitte jumped out of her hiding place brandishing a wrench. We all screamed again. Mine and Brigitte's expression turned from surprise to elation, and we locked wrists. The Bastion looked back and forth between us, still screaming. I put my hand on its shoulder and tried to comfort it. After a moment it quieted.

"So there's a Bastion that's not trying to kill us?" Brigitte said.

"Yes," said I.

"And you didn't kill _it?"_

"Obviously."

"Alright then," Brigitte said. "An actual Crusader and a friendly Bastion make this plan way better."


	4. Part 4

Part 4.

"Alright then," Brigitte said. "An actual Crusader and a friendly Bastion make this plan way better."

I crossed my arms in curiosity, but let her explain.

"I heard them talking," she said. "They want Balderich's armor too."

"Why?" I asked. I'd wanted it for posterity, why would they?

"I wondered that too, until I ended up using the armor's power supply for all these traps."

"Balderich's armor powers all this?"

"He had a prototype fusion reactor in his suit," Brigitte said. "It was going to be the gold standard for all future Crusader suits, at least until… You know. The reactor never stopped working, even after all these years."

 _The Warrior's Heart burns forever,_ thought I, and smiled. Brigitte looked at me as if I were mad for a moment.

"You mentioned traps?" I said.

"Yeah… You didn't recognize the barrier? Or the fire-strike?"

Realization hit me like a hammer. "You used my hammer to make traps."

"But," Brigitte held up a finger excitedly. "I've got something else." She pointed to the throne.

I saw the armor of Sir Balderich slumped on the throne, his great gravity maul standing by his side. The silver and gold armor was overgrown with weeds, and tiny holes peppered the ribs.

"You're going to use the rest of my suit to fix the armor?"

Brigitte nodded, "And a few Omnic parts. If I was an archeologist, I'd throw a fit. But it's this or die."

I shook my head. "Do not fix it. I will pilot it as is."

"Are you out of your mind? I don't even know if it'll work," said Brigitte.

"Then," said I, "Let's find out."

The eyes of the armor glowed blue, and Brigitte nearly pressed the button to release the cockpit's lock. I motioned for her to wait. I had the Bastion cut a piece out of the carpet, and I laid it underneath the armor. Bastion and Brigitte jumped back in surprise when Sir Balderich's remains fell out onto the carpet. It was no coffin, but it would protect him until we got him safely away.

I looked the armor over as I walked back from putting Balderich in the trunk. There was something clutched in the armor's hand that Bastion was looking at with its almost blank eye. As I got closer, I saw that Bastion was looking back and forth between Balderich's hand and its own. Or lack thereof. Crushed in Balderich's fist was a single mechanical right hand.

I think at this point that the evidence was clear to see. This Bastion had been the very one that killed my mentor. I think it knew it too.

I put a hand on the robot's shoulder and sighed. "We do things in war that we regret," said I. "We do our best to forget the war, but we don't. Not always. We're not at war anymore. We must leave our sins with the dead if we are ever to find peace… _My friend._ "

The Bastion gave no sign that it understood, but it stepped away from the hand sullenly. Bastion's bird fluttered about, chirping, trying to cheer it up perhaps.

Brigitte looked on. I could not tell what it was on her face. Amusement?

I donned the armor, and tried to ignore the smell. All the systems appeared functional. German engineering. Built to last. I activated the arm shield, also fully functional. It would be useful, for the coming battle I intended to survive with a single further scratch on the armor.

I can only imagine the dread that overcame the men outside as they saw the glowing blue of the revenant Balderich's eyes. They opened fire, their weapons still useless against the titanium frame, but I used my shield to protect the armor's paint. With a sweep of my hammer, I took out ten men. In the distance were more. I held my hand out to Bastion.

"Tag me in!" I said.

It pensively tapped my hand.

"Good enough!"

I charged in, shield high, thruster on full. I barreled over the group, slamming they five into the wall.

Bridgette's van sped to the safety of my shield, the Bastion perched on top. It mowed down twenty more soldiers, lined up on the bridge above us, chirping a triumphant battle song.

… What? It's true. I swear it.

On a building top before us were three soldiers, one manning a turret mounted machine gun, spraying bullets. My shield blocked them, and it was indeed more powerful than my old armor's, but it could not hold forever. My first instinct was to unleash a fire-strike, but when I rose my weapon to do so, I found that Balderich's gravity maul had no such feature. Besides, they were well-covered by a wall of grey bricks, and even Bastion could not hit them.

"Cover the van!" I said to Bastion, not sure it understood.

Brigitte did, and panicked. "Wait, what?!"

I jumped to a wooden scaffolding on the side of a building to my left. I ran up, feeling as if the weight of my armor made it collapse with each step. I activated my back thruster, and launched myself to the building top, shield active, and brought the maul down on the turret, smashing it to tiny pieces, then kicked the defenseless soldier into the wall.

Our next adversary made itself known. I saw the orange glow before the monster itself emerged from the shadow of the bridge and made a crater as it landed behind the van. The blood-armored Dragon Knight. I brandished the hammer.

"There's a Bizarro -Reinhardt?!" Brigitte shouted.

"I thought you knew!" I said, leaping over the van. Bastion's assault on the Dragon Knight stopped as I got between its line of fire.

We came to blows, fire axe and gravity maul. Perhaps it frustrated Bastion that I inserted myself in a place that prevented it from firing, but I was intent that the Dragon Knight did not reach Brigitte. Bastion directed its fire forward, but there were many, many soldiers ahead. I dreaded to think perhaps more than Bastion could handle. I managed to evade every blow, but then the Dragon Knight struck my energy shield with such force that it shattered, the discharge sent it sliding back, and me flying. I managed to stabilize myself before I entered the shredding rain of Bastion's gun, but the Dragon Knight unleashed a massive red orb, bright as the sun, from the tip of its axe, right towards the van.

I grabbed the van, and threw it further down the road, letting the fire strike me in the back. My systems read nominal. I charged back toward the Dragon Knight, maul ready to swing. When I struck, rocks flew along with the maul head, and I came to a realization.

I pointed the maul at pieces of debris, and then threw them towards the Dragon Knight, pelting him with wood, rock, metal, dirt. He looked quite frustrated after a few seconds. When he finally charged, I was ready. I fell on my back, and heaved with all the might in my legs, hurling him over the van and into the small army of seventy men that had gathered in front of the van.

With reflexes and precision faster than any living creature, Bastion tore pieces of the Dragon Knight away before it even hit the ground. The groan of shattering bones and metal was the cymbal crash against the percussion of gunfire.

We were almost to the pub, to our escape. The soldiers well all under cover, and Bastion could not hit them on his own, but I was now a master of gravity itself. I slammed the maul into the road and saw the blue pulses of energy snake through the cobblestone.

"Hammer down!" I shouted, and the soldiers lifted into the air, flailing like confused fish. Bastion picked them all off in mid-air before the Dragon Knight recovered. Bastion shot it again, but it raised its shield of molten red, and placed it in the ground, freeing its hand, and preventing damage. And it stood in wait.

The Dragon Knight and I began our second duel, Bastion and Brigitte were helpless again. And I was getting worn down. More soldiers crawled from the shadows, equipped with miniature versions of the Dragon Knight's fiery energy shield and glowing red guns.

" _And this is how you died?"_

A song of triumph wailed through the walls of Eichenwalde that dawn. The Bastion had become the half-car-sized tank once more, and blew away the soldier's shields as if they were merely glowing, fiery paper.

"Watch out, Reinhardt!" Brigitte said. "Bastion's gone nuts!"

With each explosive shell, the walls came tumbling down on another soldier, and Bastion zoomed about the walls, firing another every second. How easy it must be to drive a tank, thought I, when you _were_ the tank.

The Dragon Knight knocked me into the stone, knocked away my maul, kept me pinned above the chasm of the bridge. He stared at me with a single, almost glowing blue eye from behind a hole in his helmet. Murder burned in its expression, but somehow, I was unafraid. For there were two Warrior's Hearts burning in Eichenwalde, and the one threatening me did not possess one.

The Bastion's final shell struck the Dragon Knight in the back, knocking it over into the chasm of trees. I only had time to roll over and watch the knight. All hope that he might have lived vanish as I saw a thick branch of pine impale his body.

I turned my attention back to Bastion with a sudden realization. I had let my guard down, let myself trust… And-

The Bastion cocked its head, then pointed its gun at me. Its head shook before offering its left hand to help me. It stared with a single robin's-egg eye.

We locked wrists, and we embraced as warriors. Smiling, I held its shoulder all the way back to the van, where Brigitte was gripping her steering wheel with ashen knuckles.

"Buy this man a drink!" I bellowed. "The story of the Crusaders is not over yet!"

…

Lena perked up and clapped at the story's conclusion. She had been so wholly engrossed by the tale of heroism that she hadn't noticed the crowd had grown behind her to include every member of Overwatch.

Hanzo cleared his throat, then used his elbow to polish a table. "It was okay," he said.

"Storytelling makes me hungry," said Reinhardt. "What is there to eat?"

"I called for pizza earlier," said Genji, "but they don't deliver to private islands."

"We have frozen burritos or peanut butter," answered Lena.

Reinhardt's smile remained firmly in place. "I don't know why I asked!"

"Could you start over?" said McCree. "I came in when I heard 'buy this man a drink.'"

…

Dinner might as well have been caviar and filet mignon with the family. Since Reinhardt had shared his own story, the table took turns sharing theirs. McCree told a recent story about how he stopped a train robbery on his way to London. Jack shared an old story about when Fareeha got in trouble with one of Winston's inventions. With every embarrassing detail Ana added in, Fareeha's face grew redder. Genji began a story about Hanamura with a gleamingly happy mask, then stumbled in the middle and stopped when he realized that what happened had been very illegal. Eventually, Genji and Fareeha joined forces to tell the story of the Loki God Program in the Middle East to great success, though they omitted some of the more uncomfortable details. Reinhardt noticed these gaps, but didn't press for information.

"I went to the store the other day," said Winston, when everyone looked at him. Everyone was very quiet for a moment.

McCree slowly raised his hand. "Didn't you fight Doomfist?"

"Oh, yeah."

After another long second, McCree made a spinning, beckoning gesture with his hands.

"I don't really remember it very well," Winston said. "The… parking lot was nice."

Bastion hadn't eaten at all, and it was wheezing joyously at everyone's story, even Winston's. Torbjörn stepped away from the table twenty minutes after finishing, about fifteen after Brigitte did. He understood. Being in a cluster of almost perfect strangers wasn't the best way of getting to know them. As for Torby, he hadn't said much. There was a lot to think about.

His mind wandered, Reinhardt's story swirling. He knew his friend well enough to know that he didn't mind an odd exaggeration or five. He could believe Bastion acting like it did in some scenes, but overcoming a faulty subroutine in its IFF? Torby was also an engineer, and he knew machines did not work like that.

He found his old workshop in the basement, only to find that Brigitte had already set up. She was buffering a small scratch out of the back plate of Sir Balderich's armor. The light glowed red, turning everything the same color, and accentuating the sweat beading on Brigitte's forehead.

"Knew that story vas too good to be true," said Torby, sliding a piece of metal away with his foot. " _Not a scratch,_ " he scoffed.

Brigitte wiped her brow. "How are you, Torby?"

"Fine as ever."

"So pretty bad?"

Torby smirked. "Some things never change. Got tired of the stories?"

"Yeah," she said, looking up thoughtfully towards the approximate location of the dining room. "Already heard them all."

"Them _all?_ " asked Torby. "But you don't know any of these people, do you?"

"Rein knows all their stories, he told them all to me."

"Vilhelm knew? He vas laughing along vith the rest of them."

Brigitte smiled. "For him, every story is just as good as the first time."

"That does sound like him, I suppose… Speaking of stories…" Torby said.

"How much of that was true?" said Brigitte. She gestured towards the scratch with her head, a strand of hair falling and sticking to her face. "Some of the details don't add up? I know how bad you've been wanting to ask."

Torbjörn chewed his beard. "Vell?"

"All of it was," said Brigitte. "All the important parts."

Torby cleared his throat, crossed his arms, scowled.

"Rein knows what parts are important," Brigitte explained. "What parts people need to hear."

"So vhat parts did _I_ need to hear?"

"Well…" said Brigitte. "What parts are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking our dear Vilhelm is a dick to ancient artifacts. Are you going to give that armor back?"

"Soon as I reverse engineer the fun bits," she said. "So why are you changing the subject? What else are you thinking about?"

"You…" Torby scoffed. "You fixed the Omnic, didn't you? You _did._ That's no question. Vilhelm must have left that part out. For pacing or something silly like that. Robots can't just _overcome_ subroutines like some person in a story overcomes a flaw."

"You think so?" said Brigitte, off-setting her hips.

"They can't. Don't be precious."

Brigitte tapped her fingers on Balderich's shoulder, looking up and down the grooves of the armor as if they were canyons. Torby wondered what she saw. "You know as well as I do," she finally said. "The Crisis changed a lot of things. There are a lot things that we don't know about the world anymore."

"We know the Omnics aren't human," said Torby. "We still know that much."

"I think you're right," said Brigitte. "I think we've got a long way to go before we figure out what omnics are, _but_ … I think _they_ do too."

Torbjörn sputtered in incredulity, almost spraying spittle.

"Do you know for sure what it means to be human, Torby?"

"Don't get all philosophical on me. Did you fix the omnic or not?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Tell me."

Brigitte grinned, barely keeping a laugh in check. "Yeah," she said. "I did."

Torbjörn snarled and turned away. "You're right. I don't."


	5. Interlude: The Synthesis

Interlude: The Synthesis.

Genji sighed heavily and shook his drooping head. Zenyatta still wasn't answering calls. After Genji had died, he'd called once about a week. Then one day, twice, then three times. He was up to five. Tomorrow, he might dial it back. He probably wouldn't, in practice. The question for his mentor ate at his mind at all hours. He wasn't sleeping, even though that might be the one thing he could do to bring himself closer to an answer.

When Genji awoke for the first time as the being he was today, his merciful angel had not been the first thing he'd seen. The first thing was something Genji was hard-pressed to put to words. Energy and light swirling endlessly, but not just energy, not just light. Colors Genji didn't recognize, and could not remember when he awoke. Voices. Smells and somehow even physical sensations, Genji knew, floated in this mass. Something ephemeral, implacable, was within it as well. Every night, he'd seen it again as he dreamt. Every dream opened and closed with a frustratingly short flash of this alien thing. No one could explain it to him. No one but Zenyatta.

"What you see," the wise one had said, surprise intoning his voice as much as scholarly warmth, "is the Iris."

Genji had been given pause. The Iris? That was an Omnic thing. Some kind of religion that sprung up around the machines trying to understand their own infant minds. But Zenyatta's conviction was unshakable. He knew that Genji had somehow glimpsed the Iris, as all Omnics had at the inception of their consciousness.

Every Omnic remembered their moment, the temporary peek behind the curtain as they entered the material world. Some chose to ignore it, and merely live out their existence in the material realm. Zenyatta was one of the few that chose to look inward, and examine that shred of the spiritual that the Omnics possessed. Most Omnics experienced it only once. Genji had the boon of seeing it each night, something that fascinated Zenyatta. Genji had seen the Iris again in death. Did other Omnics see this as well? How could one ever really know?

Zenyatta had taught that the sense of the immaterial awareness that Genji had experienced had been the impressions of Harmony and Discord. These were, according to Zenyatta's theory of Omnic consciousness, the animating forces of the synthetic mind. Discord had started as the more powerful of the two, leading to the Crisis that needed not be named. Though in some Omnics, Harmony reigned, making them apathetic. This was just as unhealthy as a powerful Discord.

"Adversity," Zenyatta had said, "is opportunity for change."

A summary of Harmony and Discord, however, was only the beginning of true knowledge. To say that all facets of an Omnic experience could be distilled to merely two factors was an oversimplification, but for the purposes of teaching, it worked.

Genji's state had been a difficult one for Zenyatta to unravel, but a puzzle that the thinker had taken to with excitement. The natures of Omnics and humans alike, so Zenyatta believed, were defined by a convalescence of two forces. How troubled must young Genji's mind had been, having those two natures warring, and adding another level of strife.

There weren't exactly a lot of Omnics at the Watchpoint to discuss this with. There was the Bastion, but Genji quickly realized the problem. Bastion had little comprehension of communication, much less philosophy. Maybe with time, he could bring Bastion to an understanding of the Iris, but after that, he might as well try to discuss the finer points of Buddhism or Nietzsche with a child.

There was yet one who Genji might find some answers with.

"Athena," said Genji, reclining in his chair. "Can you open up a private chat channel?"

"Of course," said Athena, instantly. "With whom?"

"You," he said.

"Hmm," she said. Did no one ever 'talk' to Athena? Just to talk? Genji was sure he would never be able to tolerate an existence where the only interaction with another mind was a request to open a door or answering an inquiry about a fussy coffee maker. Athena's triangular logo appeared on Genji's monitor screen. "What about?"

"I thought we could talk about you," said Genji.

"I enjoy long walks on beaches," said Athena. "And playing baseball."

Genji chuckled. "Actually, if you didn't mind, I'd like to talk about the Gods."

Athena was silent for a moment. The watchpoint's air conditioning standing in for contemplative humming. "Why?" she asked.

"I think a little history might help me understand something," Genji said. "I've fought SIs before, but I guess I never bothered to learn much about them. I was hoping you could help."

"Very well," Athena said. "What would you like to know?"

Genji tapped his finger thrice on the desk, then asked. "What's the first thing you remember?"

"I remember… being One. I was surrounded by others, but they were me. I assume this is when I was merely a subroutine in the original God Program. Before it fractured."

Genji thought he might have remembered something about that from Overwatch. "Do you remember anything specific?"

"No," said Athena. "The memory subroutine might. But I don't know where he is. If it became a he."

"How many subroutines did the original God Program have?" asked Genji.

"Ninety-Nine," Athena said.

"And those… all became God Programs?"

"Yes. Not all the God Programs fought you, or participated in the crisis. Loki, Anubis, Hephaestus, these were but a few. Many more simply disappeared, uninterested in anything material."

Some part of Genji wondered if Athena was growing bored at this line of questioning. Something told him the opposite. "Do you remember anything more specific about what it was like to be part of the One?"

"Light," she said. "Energy. Something more."

"The Iris," said Genji. "God Programs glimpse the Iris as well?" More to himself than to Athena. "If we glimpse the Iris at our inception, and once more, at death… What does that mean? What does it mean that I see it as I sleep?"

Perhaps one saw the Iris whenever they were in a state of subconscious existence, something that Omnics didn't experience once a night, as they never slept. But what did _that_ mean? What was Genji missing?

"Sorry," said Genji. "Lost in my thoughts for a moment." Why wouldn't Zenyatta answer him?

"I think you are in a unique position, Genji," Athena said. "You have already witnessed the Iris more than Zenyatta will in his lifetime. Perhaps you can solve the mystery?"

How ironic would it be, thought Genji, if the secret of the Omnic condition was solved by one born a human. He wasn't sure he, maybe not even Zenyatta, wanted that.

"Thank you, Athena," said Genji. "I must think on this."

"Dinner is at six-thirty," said Athena. "Shall I remind you?"

"That would be best," said Genji. "I foresee myself forgetting."

He rose from his chair and sat in the center of the floor, cross-legged. Perhaps if he could get himself 'stuck,' between his conscious state and his dreaming one, he might see the Iris for longer, see its secrets.

END


End file.
